


Paving Stones on the Road to Hell

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Unintentional emotional abuse, retrospectively
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil’s trying.  Phil’s trying so hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paving Stones on the Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shooting Stuff Is Better With Company](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1996956) by [WriteThroughTheNight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteThroughTheNight/pseuds/WriteThroughTheNight). 



> This is a purely self-indulgent fic, based on my deep-seated need to make Phil suffer. I haven't forgiven him for lying to the Avengers yet, and WriteThroughTheNight's new story "Shooting Stuff is Better with Company" proved to be the perfect inspiration. 
> 
> I consider the sex here dub-con, because Phil isn't in his right mind when he's offering it, but that being said, other's might disagree. I just wanted to err on the side of caution. Please read with your own mental health in mind. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Desert_neon for not only looking over this for me once, but twice! Thank you for your suggestions, darling, they made this piece of anti-fluff better :)

“I’ll never forgive you,” Clint muttered, even as he drew Phil in closer. Phil had been alive and hadn’t told him. He could never let that go.

Phil shuddered, but held on tight. He didn’t bother trying to argue his case. “I understand.”

 

~ Two years later ~

 

“We’re getting married!”

Clint whooped and jumped up from the couch to squeeze Tony in a hug. “Congratulations, man!”

The other Avengers echoed him, grinning and clapping Tony on the back. They hugged Pepper, too, wishing her happiness and offering their congratulations. Tony looked thrilled. He was smiling, broad and happy, and Pepper looked pleasantly flushed. Clint thought it was about time they got married. They’d been living together for years now and though they’d had their ups and downs, they were solid. 

The only person not thrilled by the announcement was Phil. Clint glanced over at him and frowned. Phil was standing a little apart from the group, swallowing heavily. The moment Pepper turned to him, he covered it up by pasting an excited smile on his face and stepping forward to wish her the best, but Clint knew it was a lie.

Which was weird. Phil was practically Pepper’s best friend They hung out together often, usually on Wednesday nights when Clint was teaching baby agents at S.H.I.E.l.D. He must have known this was coming. Why would he be upset about it?

Clint asked him later, when they were back in their rooms. Phil stiffened.

“I’m very happy for them both,” he said, but the words were stilted. Clint, who knew Phil’s every cadence, blinked. 

“You don’t sound happy.”

“It’s just -” Phil pinched his lips together, darting a look up to Clint’s face and then back down again, “hard, but that’s fine.” He shook himself. “What do you want for dinner?”

Clint paused. He didn't understand, but he got that Phil didn't want to talk about it. "Dinner? I don’t know.” Phil usually cooked these days. Clint still liked to cook, but he was busy, and so Phil often had things ready by the time he got home. Phil’s hours at S.H.I.E.L.D had been severely scaled back since Fury brought him back from the dead. He was primarily the Avengers’ liaison now, which meant his schedule was as erratic as the rest of theirs, but on the days that they weren’t called into battle, he had the luxury of coming home early. There was always something clamoring for Clint’s attention, now that he was both a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent _and_ an Avenger. It kept him busy. 

Still, the question made him think. He realized that Phil often had whatever he was craving ready by the time he came home, because Phil usually texted him around lunch, asking what he wanted for dinner. Clint just hadn’t realized how subconscious that routine had become.

“Whatever you want, I’m going to take a shower. I spent the morning training with Rhodey in the gym and I still stink.”

Phil nodded and Clint left, looping through their apartment to the shower. It was more a suite, really, then an apartment, a set of rooms that Tony had built for them. He’d designed them primarily with Clint in mind, but when Phil had returned, he’d moved in as well. Tony had offered to change things if Phil wanted something different, put up a wall in the living room, maybe, to create a study so Phil could work from home, but Phil had told him not to. The living room worked the way it was.

Clint had to admit that the glass wall looking down onto New York was beautiful. He knew Phil missed having an office of his own at home, though. He’d converted a section of his den back in his old apartment into a makeshift office back in the day, and he’d often bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t arrange things the way he liked at S.H.I.E.L.D. His old space at Headquarters had been moved to the Helicarrier once they’d gotten that operational, but he shared it with three other senior agents. Phil might be Nick Fury’s one good eye, but that didn’t mean that space on the Helicarrier was anything less than at a premium. Not even Fury had a private office; he shared with Hill.

Clint showered quickly, wanting to broach the subject of the home office one more time, but by the time he’d dressed in old sweats and padded back to the kitchen, dinner was almost done.

“Wow, that was fast.”

“Leftover lasagna from the other night and reheated spaghetti.” Phil looked up from the stove. “That okay?”

Clint made a face. “Carbs and carbs?”

Phil’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. I’ll get out some vegetables.” He sounded tired. He’d been like this for a while now, like he was smaller than the man he'd been. Death and resurrection had really taken it out of him; he was less controlled, less sure of himself than he used to be. Not in the field, but when it was just the two of them... yeah.

“No, it’s okay. That lasagna was fantastic. Look, I’ll pull out some microwave corn. Easy.”

Phil searched his face. “Are you sure? I can - “

“It’s fine,” Clint said firmly. “Sit down, let me get that. You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m good,” Phil declared, but the bags under his eyes betrayed him. They had more-or-less become permanent over the past two years, but they were worse than usual tonight. 

Clint crossed the kitchen and put his hands on Phil’s shoulders, leading him back to the table. “I can get it.” He realized that Phil usually served him dinner, too. Well, while they chatted and ate and things, it wasn’t like they were a couple from the nineteen-fifties or anything, but still. Clint grabbed a pair of forks and knives from the drawer. “There.”

Phil flashed him a tired smile, there and gone again, then seemed to rouse himself. He sat up straighter in his chair. “Thank you, Clint. This looks delicious.”

“Well, you cooked it,” Clint said, taking his place at the table. They usually ate at the couch, but lasagna could get messy. The small kitchen table was perfect for two people. “Mm, extra mushrooms. Thank you, babe.”

Phil smiled. It lit up his face, making Clint realize how miserable he had looked a second ago. “You’re welcome.”

They took their time over dinner, then migrated to the couch. Phil cued up the next episode of _Dog Cops_ and settled beside him under Clint’s arm. Clint was grateful for the touch. He still wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with Phil today, but Phil touching him meant that everything was okay. 

Clint wasn’t so great with words. Touch was easier. Phil always signalled his anger by drawing away, and it could be so much worse than shouted words or crisp silences. Not that they fought much anymore.

Actually, since Phil had come back from the dead, Clint couldn’t remember a single fight. That was probably because they had been walking on eggshells around each other for so long. It had taken - wow, almost a year - for the silences between them to become comfortable again. 

The recovery seemed to go in fits and starts. They’d be doing okay and then one of them would say something to set the other off. Well, usually Clint. He’d been on a hair-trigger for a while there. He found it hard to talk about what was bothering him, but he’d become quiet and draw away. Phil was always apologetic and stubbornly persistent, and Clint would eventually unwind again. Sometimes Phil would get angry, but it never lasted for long. Actually, it never lasted for more than a day. Phil always seemed to be better by evening, calm and supportive and like he’d never been upset at all. 

That was good of him. Clint should probably tell him that he appreciated that, one of these days.

“Ready for bed?” he asked instead. Words were hard. Actions were easier.

“Sure,” Phil agreed, and stood up from the couch. “How are you feeling tonight?”

It was their code phrase for asking if the other wanted sex. Clint usually said yes, but he was feeling slightly pensive tonight. And besides, he didn’t want to pressure Phil. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asked. He leaned in for a kiss. “How about a blow job?”

Clint shivered. A blow job did sound fantastic. He kissed Phil back. “Sure.”

They walked to the bedroom and undressed, then Phil pressed Clint to the bed. “Just lie back and think of England.”

“England, right. I’ll think of -- _ughh_.” Fuck, that felt good. Phil licked the underside of Clint’s cock and then swallowed him down to the root. 

Phil was great at giving blowjobs. He’d had a lot of practice. They had kept things to mouths and hands only for a while there, working their way back to penetrative sex. Getting fucked was an act of intimacy that Clint hadn’t felt comfortable with for a while. 

Phil worked him until Clint couldn’t see straight, sucking his way up and then gently down, deep throating him a couple of times even though Clint knew that Phil didn’t like that. It always brought tears to his eyes and sometimes made him gag, but he did it because Clint enjoyed it.

“Fuck,” Clint said, finally, when the good was too much and he tipped over the edge to come. “Fuck, fuck, _Phil_.”

Phil wiped his mouth and crawled back up the bed. “Mm,” he said, and kissed Clint lightly on the lips. 

“Give me a sec,” Clint panted. His brain had just been sucked out through his dick. “I can return the favour.”

Phil waved him off, though. “I’m good.”

Clint got his breath back and turned over in bed. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, nodding. He curled up beside Clint, turning so he could be the little spoon. “This okay, though?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Clint answered, draping an arm across his chest. “Thanks, Phil.”

“You’re welcome,” Phil said. “Goodnight.”

 

*

 

The next few weeks were a busy blur of wedding activities. Tony had to be talked out of a hundred and one crazy schemes, and for some reason it fell to Clint to shoot down the majority of them.

“Ah, man, why me?” he whined, when Natasha shooed him off in Tony’s direction. “Rhodey’s the best man.”

“Rhodey has been the voice of reason for far too long,” Natasha told him. “And besides, you’re the other crazy one. If _you_ say releasing a thousand white doves the moment they exchange their vows is over the top, then Tony will believe you.”

Still, not all of Tony’s ideas were crazy. 

“What do you think about riding off into the sunset on a red and gold motorcycle?” Clint asked Phil when they saw each other that night. As per usual, Phil had food ready on the table.

“I assume you aren’t talking about a day trip this weekend?” Phil asked, a quiet smile on his lips.

Clint laughed. “No, for Tony and Pepper’s wedding. I think it’d be kind of cool.”

Phil shrugged. “Motorcycles are fun, but they aren’t the most practical, especially if Pepper will be wearing a long dress. Why not stick to a convertible?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Clint admitted, grabbing his plate and heading into the living room. A thought struck him and he turned to Phil. “Hey, do you ever think about it?”

“Riding off on a motorcycle?”

“No, getting married.”

Phil froze. “What?”

Clint shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. Something about Phil’s body language had gone hurtful and distant, and he didn’t know why. “Yeah, just. I don’t mean, like, us, but - ”

Phil’s expression became bleak. “Of course not.”

“But I mean, just in general,” Clint pushed, figuring the only way out was through. “Have you ever - “

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” Phil said suddenly. 

Clint blinked when Phil stood up from the couch. “O-kay.”

“You’ll be fine for dinner?” Phil asked without looking back.

“Yeah,” Clint said, rising from the couch. “Phil, what - ?”

“It’s nothing, it’s just paperwork.” Phil dropped his plate in the kitchen and snagged his jacket from the table. “I’ll see you later.”

“All right,” Clint said, feeling helpless as he watched Phil pat his coat for his keys. Where was he going? “I guess I - “

The door to the apartment closed.

“- will.” Clint finished. 

He looked around the empty apartment. 

_What the hell?_

 

*

 

“Do you know what’s up with Phil?” he asked Natasha, three nights later when Phil was still acting strange.

He’d gotten back from wherever he’d gone that night around two in the morning. There’d been grease on his hands and cool air on his skin. Clint figured he’d worked on Lola for a while before taking her out for a spin. He’d tried to ask Phil what was bothering him, but the words had stuck inside his throat.

Since then Phil had been… distant. Not that he was any less attentive - if anything, he’d been _more_ accommodating and observant than usual. It hit Clint again how much Phil bent himself to Clint’s schedule. He was almost always ready to go when Clint texted to say he was leaving work, and he beat him home every time. He insisted on cleaning the kitchen after dinner each evening, and had given Clint another blow job the night before. Once again, he’d refused to allow Clint to reciprocate. 

He was pulling back, even as he tried to push himself forward. It was dizzying, and too like the precarious balance they’d settled into during the first year after Phil had come back.

“Give him a break,” Natasha told him, drawing Clint’s thoughts back to the present. “This is hard for him, you know.”

“Why?” Clint asked, honestly confused. Phil couldn’t be unhappy for Tony or Pepper. “He doesn’t, like, have some unrequited crush on Pepper or anything, does he?”

The flare of jealousy wasn’t new. After meeting Tony for the first time, Phil had spent a lot of time talking about the fabulous Pepper Potts. Clint had always pasted a smile on his face and told himself it didn’t mean anything, but maybe there had been something there, after all?

But, “Don’t be an idiot,” Natasha said. She gave Clint a scathing look. “How dense can you be?”

“Pretty dense,” Clint muttered, because if this wasn’t about Pepper, he didn’t know what it could be. “Help me out, here.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, I think it’s time you guys finally talk about this. Maybe I let it go on too long. How much talking have you done over the past two years?”

“We talk,” Clint defended, even though he knew it wasn’t quite true. They talked; they just weren’t very good at it. “We talk sometimes.”

“Well, you should talk about this,” Natasha told him. “The sooner the better.”

Clint knew she was probably right. Natasha often was. 

He knew for certain when he saw Phil that night. Phil’s eyes were shuttered but he still nodded mechanically when Clint asked if he wanted to watch _Dog Cops_ before bed.

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Clint picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “What I want is for you to tell me what’s bothering you. Come on, Phil. What is it?”

Phil blinked and turned towards him. “What?”

“Something is wrong, something is -” Clint waved a hand. “I don’t know. Upsetting you. I want to know what it is.”

Phil shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine,” Clint insisted. “You’ve been acting out of it for days, hell, maybe for long. I don’t know, it’s easy not to see it, but something’s off.”

Unexpectedly, Phil’s face crumbled. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost sounding tearful. “I’ll try to do better.”

Clint blinked, thrown. “You’ll - ? Hey, no, Phil. It’s okay. Just talk to me, babe.”

But Phil shook his head, pulling back. “No, no. It’s my problem, not yours. I’m fine. I just need some time to get my head around it.”

“That’s not the way we work. Your problems are my problems, remember?” It was one of the first things Phil had ever said to him, back when they had just started working together.

For some reason, though, Phil froze. “What?”

“I said ‘your problems are my problems.’” Clint felt his smile waver. “You remember that, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember it, but I don’t - “ He swallowed. “Don’t tease me like this, Clint, okay? Not tonight.”

Clint felt bewildered. “Tease you? I’m not teasing you, Phil. Jesus Christ. What’s _wrong?_ ”

“Nothing!” Phil stood up from the couch. “Nothing’s wrong!”

“Something’s wrong!” Clint shouted back, following him up. “This, right here, this screaming at each other thing? This means something’s wrong!”

“Well I’m sorry I can’t just bottle it up, I’ll try harder, okay?!”

“Bottle _what_ up, Phil? Fucking hell, just spit it out and tell me!”

“I’m jealous that Tony and Pepper are getting married!”

They stopped shouting and stared, panting at each other. Clint felt his heart sink. “You’re - what?”

Phil rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m jealous that Tony and Pepper are getting married. I’ve wanted that, for so long, and to see them get to have it... It’s just hard, okay?”

“You wanted - ? What, with Pepper?”

Phil lowered his hand and stared at him. “What? Pepper? No. With _you_.”

“Me?”

Phil waved a hand. “Of course with you! What, do you think I’ve been holding on to some bizarre crush on Pepper this entire time?”

“I don’t know!” Clint shouted. “All I know is that you’ve been acting weird, and I know you’ve liked her since forever, and -”

“Why the hell would I like Pepper like that when I’m in love with you?!”

Clint stared at him. “You’re in love with me?”

“Jesus Christ.” Phil lowered a hand over his face. “You _know_ that I’m in love with you, Clint. I’ve _told_ you that I’m in love with you.”

“You used to,” Clint said, hitching his shoulders. “You haven’t said it in a while.”

“Well, excuse me if I didn’t feel like stabbing myself in the heart all over again,” Phil snipped. “I don’t know what more I can do, Clint.” He shook himself violently. “No. I didn't mean that. I’m sorry. I just - I need a little time to get my head around it, that's all. I’ll be fine.”

Phil looked so helpless, so suddenly defeated, that Clint stepped forward. “Get your head around what?”

Phil looked up at him, despair in his eyes. “That they get to have what I want so bad.”

The distance between them suddenly felt like a chasm, but it wasn’t insurmountable. Clint took another step forward. “And what is it that you want?”

Phil shivered. He didn’t look away from Clint, drinking him up with his eyes. “You. I want to marry you.”

Clint shuddered. He didn’t know how much he wanted that until he heard Phil say it. He didn’t know he wanted it until now. “Then why haven’t you asked me?”

Bizarrely, Phil’s face twisted. He turned, putting more distance between them. “Don’t mock me, Barton.”

Clint didn’t know what was going on, but he felt like maybe he was getting close. “I’m not mocking you, Phil.”

Phil scowled. “Marriage requires a couple of things we don’t have.”

“What, like a vagina?” Clint strangled a laugh. “I think they changed that law several years ago, Phil.”

“ _No_. Like love. Trust. Commitment,” Phil spat. There was a lot behind his eyes, anger and pain and a despair that Clint recognized, that had maybe never entirely gone away.

Clint’s breath caught his throat. “I love you, Phil.”

Phil closed his eyes, his shoulders going tight. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not. Jesus, Phil, I’m _not_. Did you really think - Of course I’m in love with you!”

But Phil shook his head. “You’re not. You might have been, before, but I broke that. I know I did. You can’t just win that back, I _know_. I’ve been _trying_ and it’s so _hard_...” He broke off.

Clint stared at him. “Jesus, Phil…Is that what you’ve been trying to do? Is that what this - ?” He waved a hand over their apartment. “Did you think - ?” He crossed the last distance between them and pulled Phil into his arms. “I love you, okay? I love you. I never stopped loving you. Yes, I was pissed at you for a very long time, and yeah, my trust was a little shaken, but I don’t - I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me if I didn’t still love you, Phil. I wouldn’t have taken you to bed. I wouldn’t have - ”

He blanched. A lot of things were suddenly becoming clear to him. “Oh my god. Have you been _serving_ me? Have you been… have you been _servicing_ me because you thought you needed to so I would forgive you? 

“No,” Phil protested. “No, Clint, it wasn’t like that. Not really. Not… most of the time.”

Clint dropped his hands from around Phil’s shoulders and stepped back. “Oh my god.”

“It’s okay,” Phil said, a little desperately. He stepped back into Clint’s space. “We can just forget about it and we can go back - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t leave me, Clint, I’ll - ”

“Oh my god,” Clint said again, feeling sick to his stomach. “Oh my god.”

Phil looked heartbroken. “I’m sorry.”

Clint shook his head. “You shouldn’t be - _Jesus,_ Phil, you shouldn’t be! _I’m_ the one who’s sorry, I’m the one who - Jesus, fuck, it feels like I _raped_ you!”

“What?” Phil’s gaze snapped to his. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Clint felt sick. “I forced you to have sex with me. Not with words, maybe, or with actions, but I made you think that you needed to, that it was something you had to do so I’d put up with you.” He finally had enough distance to see the way Phil crumpled. “That’s what it was like, wasn’t it?”

“I just didn’t want you leave me.”

“I wouldn’t - ” Clint cut himself off and stepped forward, gathering Phil into his arms. He dragged them both down to the couch and pulled Phil against his chest. “I’m not going to leave you, okay? I’m not. I - maybe I might have thought about it, once upon a time, but I’m not, Phil. I forgive you, I forgave you months ago, a year ago, maybe, whatever, it doesn’t matter. I forgive you, okay? I’m not going to leave you. You don’t have to - do - anything, anymore.”

Phil shuddered. It took Clint a second to realize that he was crying. Clint tucked his head into the dip between Phil’s neck and shoulder. Jesus. How long had this been building up? 

Two years, probably. Ever since Clint had realized that Phil had allowed Fury to fake his death and had… reacted badly. 

Clint bit the inside of his lip. Fuck. 

 

*

 

It took time for them to find a new balance again. They hadn’t done anything more that night, had just sat on the couch and comforted each other. It felt good, though. Honest. Equal. Clint realized just how unequal things had been lately.

It was tempting to fall into a similar pattern as before, only reversed. Clint wanted to do anything he could to make it up to Phil. He wanted to cook for him, clean for him, pamper him with gifts that he knew Phil would like. 

“Don’t do that,” Phil told him, a little shakily, when he saw Clint’s eyes alight on a watch he knew Phil would like. “Don’t fall into the same bad habits that I did. If we want to move past this, we need to come up with new coping mechanisms.”

Clint thought of the specialty chocolate bars and silk shirts and other things that Phil had spontaneously bought for him over the past two years. At the time, he’d thought they were random gifts. 

He shuddered. “Okay. You’re right.”

With time, they found other ways to make it up to each other instead. Not sex, but with time together. They learned to talk. They’d fallen into the habit of saying hello, eating dinner, and heading to bed over the past couple of years. It had been easier to do things together than talk to each other, and it was hard to reverse those habits now.

“What do you say to a spa weekend on Saturday?” Clint asked as they strolled through the streets of New York one afternoon, knuckles brushing as they walked. The leaves were turning colours and the air was cool. “Tony wants us to try out this place he’s thinking of using for his bachelor party.”

“I don’t - ” Phil took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’d like that, actually. I don’t like having strangers touch me.” He glanced up at Clint, as if checking for his reaction.

He didn’t do that as often any more. He was better now, more confident, more like the Phil Coulson of old. It was hard to see the return of this hesitance. Clint thought of all the couples massage places he’d dragged Phil to over the years. “Okay,” he said, and it amazed him that there were still things they had to learn about each other. “No spa weekend then. How about we take Lola for a drive in the country?”

Phil relaxed, his shoulders going loose. “That’d be nice. Do you want to drive?”

Clint thought of Lola, of her beautiful, purring engine. “I’d love to.” He nudged Phil with his shoulder, suddenly playful. “You trust me?”

Phil smiled. It was blindingly bright. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Clint said. “I trust you, too.”

 

The End


End file.
